For We Are the Beautiful Thieves
by Hikaru Morinaga
Summary: A collection of one shots for the mission insane challenge on LJ centered on Schwarz. 027. "never felt this way before". Schuldig responds just as the fire trucks and police cars arrive, their sirens drowning it out; Crawford is still able to hear it.
1. Rain is Nothing but An Omen

**Rain is Nothing but an Omen**_  
rain_

_Schuldig teaches Crawford about an old Japanese ice breaker. "Nice weather, eh?" Crawford was, nonetheless, confused.  
_

-x-

Just another miserable day here in Tokyo.  
Schuldig hated being cooped up inside with nothing to do. There was nothing on the television except for Japanese soap operas, and Schuldig wasn't desperate enough to stoop down to that just yet. Crawford was at a meeting with Takatori, presumably talking about nothing important to anything but the prime minister candidate and Crawford. Maybe somewhere deep inside Crawford found it boring as hell, but went along with it anyway because that was his job--kiss up to 'Mister Takatori'.

He flipped through the channels again. News, news, news, more campaign footage, Takatori speaking, _Why should I care in the first place?_ was his thought as he found some weird game show. All Crawford did was lurk in the shadows like a good little bodyguard. Schuldig could have vomited. Wacky game shows weren't his thing, so he changed the channel yet again and found himself gazing at the weather.  
"The weather for all of this week looks like it will be raining heavily, with a period of thunderstorms towards Thursday evening," the meteorologist said in such perfect Japanese.  
"Lovely," Schuldig muttered sarcastically into his coffee. "This week'll be crap."

-x-

Crawford loosened his tie as he closed the door to the apartment. He hung his coat on the rack by the door and threw his umbrella in the holder. He sighed; this whole week was going to be bad--he could see pieces of it already. He entered the living room and saw Nagi on his laptop with the news broadcasting softly in the background. It talked of--what else--Takatori Reiji's campaign for prime minister. He had heard enough of it in the meeting today, he didn't need to hear it at home, either. He turned the TV off; Nagi wasn't watching it anyway, and thus didn't care. He surveyed the room and saw the figure who usually graced the couch at this hour was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's Schuldig?"  
Nagi didn't look up from the screen or stop typing. "He's on the roof."  
Crawford quirked an eyebrow. "Again? In the rain? Does he want pneumonia?"  
The corner of Nagi's mouth twitched in some indication of a smile he was trying to hold back.  
"Why do you care so much, Crawford?"  
"Because--" He took his tie off and went into his room for a brief moment to hang it up. No use ruining a perfectly good tie. "--if I don't have a powerful telepath, the group will fail. We're not spies, after all. We need some way of getting information we wouldn't be able to access normally."  
"He's worth more alive than he is dead," Nagi summarised. "That's all you had to say." Then, after a pause he added, "I thought for a moment you had gotten soft."  
Crawford scoffed. "An assassin growing soft is death for himself. Besides, I don't mix business with pleasure." He readjusted his spectacles before leaving the room once more.

He went to the stairwell in the corner of the apartment, one that led to the second floor and up to the roof. He had only placed one foot on it when he said, "I'll bring Schuldig inside."  
Nagi said nothing in response; Crawford began his descent to the roof. The heavy metal door creaked open as Crawford threw his shoulder against it. Rain whipped at his face and there, near the edge of the roof, was Schuldig, sitting near the railing.

"You're late," Schuldig said without turning around. Crawford stood in the doorway, out of the rain.  
"The meeting ran over."  
"Huh. Is that your new excuse now?"  
Deadpan expression. "I don't have to answer to you."  
Schuldig smirked as the bright, bleary lights of the city below were blurred by the heavy rain.  
"No, I guess you don't."

There was a pause in the conversation as Crawford thought of a way to get Schuldig inside.  
"How long have you been out here?"  
Schuldig shrugged. "Two hours I guess. It's nice out."  
Crawford looked at the rainy sky.  
"That's a Japanese ice breaker, didn't you know? You say, 'Oh, nice weather today,' and the other person answers, 'Yes, it is, isn't it?' Even if it's hailing like a bastard out."  
"Come inside, Schuldig." Crawford sounded like a master calling for his dog. Schuldig twirled a strand of wet hair around two fingers.  
"It's not that cold out. Besides, there's nothing better to do." He turned around. "Unless you're offering...?"  
"_No_," said Crawford sternly.  
"Well then call me when dinner's ready."  
"Schuldig..."

The red head removed himself from the railing and brushed past Crawford.  
"Don't want to get water everywhere, right?"  
Crawford closed the door behind them and followed Schuldig down the hall and watched him towel off.  
"The rain... It's a bad omen, isn't it?"  
"Yes," Crawford answered. "Something bad will happen, and it has yet to reveal itself."

The rain picked up again, pounded against the window pane. Whatever Crawford saw in his vision, it was drawing closer.


	2. Am I Expected to See Through This?

**Am I Expected to See Through This?**

_fog_

_Crawford often wonders if Schuldig forgets that he's not an ordinary person._

_-x-  
_

"So enlighten me, Crawford," Schuldig said, as they stood in an alleyway not far from the building Nagi was trying to break them into. His back was against the cold, damp brick of the seemingly abandoned building, hands in his pants pockets.  
"How are we supposed to see anything in such a dense fog? I can barely see the skyline, let alone anything a foot in front of my face."  
Crawford gave him a look. "If you hear someone approach, you can easily dispose of them."  
Schuldig scoffed. "I'm sorry, 'hear someone'? Over the noise around here?"  
Crawford sighed. Why couldn't he have gotten teammates as brilliant as him, he didn't know.  
"Sometimes I wonder if you forget that you're telepathic."  
Schuldig shrugged. "Guess I'm just used to my abilities and forget they're there at times. I'm sure it's happened to you, too."

A figure emerged from the fog and Crawford, for a brief moment, tensed. Seeing that Schuldig didn't look so concerned, he figured the person wasn't a threat.  
"It's only Nagi," Schuldig remarked, smirk on his face. "He's complaining about how hard it was to break into their computer systems. Must be sophisticated."  
"But not sophisticated enough," Crawford said, squinting through the thick fog.

"Let's go," he ordered, walking towards the door. Schuldig pushed away from the wall and followed his leader into the dimly lit complex.


	3. Roter Schnee

**Roter Schnee**

_snow_

_There was one macabre reason why Schuldig enjoyed the snow in the steel city called Tokyo._

_-x-  
_

It was the first snowfall of the year. Unlike Crawford, who preferred the overwhelming amount of concrete that made up the city of Tokyo; or Nagi, who didn't really know anything else; even Farfarello, who wasn't used to snow period, Schuldig liked the snow. He liked the satisfying crunch it made underfoot, how it was a sign that the Season of Death was here. He missed the German countryside and its snowy banks, missed sitting in the snow, in the quiet, where he could actually be completely alone.

There was another reason why Schuldig liked the snow, he remembered as he walked through one of Tokyo's parks, gloveless hands kept warm in his coat pocket.

The colour of blood contrasted so beautifully with the white of the snow.


	4. The Wind is On Fire

**The Moon is On Fire**

_wind_

_Schuldig always had a flair for the dramatic, even in the midst of a mission._

-x-_  
_

Crawford watched as Schuldig stood silhouetted in the light from the moon overhead, on the edge of the roof. A harsh wind blew through Schuldig's hair, turning the reddish-orange locks into flames licking at the moon above. Crawford shook his head.  
"What?" Schuldig said, putting a little too much emphasis on the 't'. "I need to look dramatic, like the good guy about to make a kill in an action movie."

Crawford looked from Schuldig to Nagi with a _well explain yourself_ look.  
Nagi flinched as a shiver crept up his spine.  
"He blackmailed me," Nagi almost whispered.  
"With what?"  
"Don't worry about it," Nagi answered a little too quickly. Then, after a pause, "You have to admit, he does look a little...action hero-y."  
Crawford shook his head. "Just get down from there so we can get this mission over and done with."


	5. On Second Thought

**On Second Thought...**

_sun_

_Would you rather I go and terroise the the public, or would you rather I stay here and watch you make sure your shirt is without wrinkles?  
_

-x-

Tap, tap, tap.

Crawford turned so his back faced the window, curtains still blocking the sunlight. The window blew open, causing rays of sunlight to spill from the outside world, scattering a sliver across the floor and onto the bed. A figure was sitting on the window sill holding the curtains back, staring at the sleeping form in the middle of the room.

"Wake up," came a voice in annoying sing-song, a smirk on his features. "Bradley... It's time to get up..."  
A murmur came from the bed. The figure gestured outside.

"It's a beautiful day out," said the person as he slid from his spot on the sill. "And you'll be late for work if you continue sleeping in like this."  
Crawford was out of bed quickly, mechanically throwing his clothes on.  
"Are you going to watch me dress?"  
Arms wrapped around Crawford's neck and teeth nipped at vulnerable flesh.  
"Schuldig..."  
"Might as well. I got nothing better to do."  
"It's your day off, and it's nice out. Go out and do something for once."  
Schuldig chuckled. "Oh, so you'd rather I go out and terroise the public than stay here?"

Crawford tightened the knot in his tie and stared at Schuldig in the mirror.  
"On second thought, just don't burn the flat down."


	6. Haven't You Seen the Date?

**Haven't You Seen the Date?**

_frost_

_Nagi was so involved with the research for their next mission that he was surprised at the tiny white flakes on what little grass there was._

-x-_  
_

"The winter's coming," Nagi said as he stared out the window. There were tiny flakes covering the grass--what little there was in a jungle of concrete and steel architecture.  
"Nagi-chen," Schuldig drawled from his seat on the window sill. He was like a cat that way. Nagi groaned at the stupid German pet name. He'd rather be called 'Nagi-kun'. Or nothing at all. He knew Schuldig did it to annoy him too.  
"What?"  
"It's already here," Schuldig said, one leg stretched out, the other straddling the window ledge. "Haven't you looked at the calendar recently?"

Nagi snapped the blinds back. _Well no, I have to admit I have been a little behind after that assignment Crawford gave me._  
"That's okay," Schuldig said, head pressed against the cool of the window pane. "I haven't either. I just heard Crawford talk about it."  
Nagi scowled and glared at Schuldig, who shrugged.  
"What?"  
"You just said--"  
"I didn't _say_ anything," Schuldig said with a smirk.

Nagi flushed and then abruptly left his place by the window, instead heading back towards his room. He pictured Tot frolicking amongst the frost covered leaves, watching her twirl and twirl as he made the frost blow all around her.

_Have fun with your girlfriend, Nagi-chen._

What did Schuldig know about how he felt, anyway? The guy had never loved anyone in his entire life.


	7. One More Week

**One More Week**

_storm_

_Who knew a simple rain storm could be misinterpreted as something out of the Book of Revelations?_

-x-_  
_

"The apocalypse is approaching," Farfarello said, as the wind howled against the trees, sending leaves everywhere, felling trees left and right, throwing sheets of rain against the house not far from the Alps. "God has come to kill us all."  
Schuldig chewed on the filter of his cigarette. "So then why are you standing in the doorway, letting the flood waters in?"

Farfarello looked over his shoulder at the German and smiled.  
"Because I want a front row seat to the End of Days."  
"Farfarello, close the door," Crawford said from the kitchen.  
"Pff. Don't listen to him, what does _he_ know?"  
Crawford emerged from the kitchen and sent Schuldig a warning look.  
"Don't encourage him, Schuldig."  
"It's not like he listens anyway," Schuldig said, dismissively.

"Close the door," Crawford ordered as he wiped his hands on a towel.  
Farfarello did not move. He didn't take well to Crawford's orders. Crawford looked to his resident telepath.  
"Make him."  
Schuldig stretched his long legs out on the couch and rested his arms behind his head.  
"I can't make him do shit, Crawford."  
_Don't toy with me_, Crawford thought, and hoped Schuldig was listening in.  
"I'm not toying with you," he replied, being honest. "I'm just telling you the truth."  
Crawford sat on the arm of the lone chair in the living room. "You can control people's minds, can't you?"  
Schuldig shrugged. "If that's what you want to call it. It's more like...'suggestions' than actually taking over their minds. They don't _have_ to do it, but most people are too weak-willed. ...It also helps to be really persuasive and threatening, but Farfarello fears no one and cannot be dissuaded from much."  
Crawford pursed his lips. "Try."

Schuldig rolled his eyes and looked at the back of Farfarello's head. He spat the remains of the cigarette out and threw it into the rarely used ashtray, arms resting on the couch's back. He needed to be relaxed, casual, in order for this to work correctly.  
"Farfarello," said Schuldig, and Crawford winced when it sounded borderline seductive, "shut the door so we can avoid the Apocalypse, huh?"  
Farfarello turned. "'We'?"  
"Well sure. At least, me and Crawford. We don't want to be blown away in this tsunami caused by the coming of the Four Horsemen... We'd rather not witness the End, we'd rather it just happen. So... If you want to go outside and try to challenge Him, go right ahead. But make sure the door's closed."

The sodden Farfarello looked at Schuldig with his one eye. Schuldig didn't know if it took hold, and Crawford was about to close the door anyway when Farfarello grinned.  
"I'll be outside, waiting to fight the Four Horsemen." With that he slammed the door behind him.  
Schuldig looked to Crawford. "Well that went better than I thought it would." Crawford looked to his watch.  
"He listens to you more than he does to me. I knew it would work."  
Schuldig grimaced at the wind. "Do you know when this storm will end?"  
"Yes, I do." Crawford had an all-knowing grin. "I always do, don't I?"  
Schuldig gazed at him expectantly.  
"Soon."  
Schuldig scowled. "Great, another week in this piece of shit house."


	8. Untainted Innocence

**Untainted Innocence**

_dew_

_She was like a child dancing in the rain, spinning faster and faster as the petals fell all around her._

_-x-  
_

Nagi never had time to appreciate the finer things in nature until he met Tot. He met her in the yard of her "Papa's" mansion, where she was marveling the trees early in the morning, during spring.  
"Isn't it pretty?" she asked him, beholding a rosebud sprinkled with the morning dew. He nodded as she plucked away the petals one by one, sprinkling them over the ground when there were enough gathered in her hand.

She reminded him of a little kid, her innocence untainted as she danced in the morning sun and he smiled to himself.


	9. But My Clothes Are Sticking to Me!

**But My Clothes Are Sticking to Me!**

_humid_

_Schuldig does not approve of meetings when the humidity index is too high and he has to wear something 'nice'._

_-x-  
_

"My clothes are sticking to me."  
Crawford discreetly kicked Schuldig in the shin.  
"Be quiet," he whispered as they stood behind Takatori, waiting for the arrival of one of his business partners. Takatori sat imposingly in his executive-style chair, a simple paper fan in his hand. He was in a three piece suit and he wasn't bothered by the elusive heat.

"But it's _hot in here_!" Schuldig whined, sounding less whiny and more annoyed than he probably should have.  
"Schuldig, if you keep complaining, I will throw you out of here."  
"Besides," Nagi added, "it's not hot out, it's just humid. It's below seventy degrees outside."  
Schuldig rolled his eyes. "Like there's a difference."

Takatori stood, smoothed out his pressed suit of wrinkles, and came to the door to greet their guest. Crawford shushed both Schuldig and Nagi and beckoned them to take their seats. The meeting would begin shortly.  
_I hate meetings_, Schuldig said through the link he had set up, and Crawford resisted the urge to roll his eyes.


	10. That Blasted Air Conditioner

**That Blasted Air Conditioner  
**

_heat-wave_

Sometimes, no matter what you do, the air conditioner just won't work._  
_

-x-

"Crawford."  
The aforementioned man looked up from his paperwork of not-much-importance-but-still-important-enough-to-warrant-a-look-through to see Schuldig, who normally dressed in a simple dress shirt and slacks combo when around the house and 'on duty', dressed in a sleeveless shirt and cargo shorts. He fanned his face with the manila folder Crawford suspected was for their last mission as sweat ran down his face, soaked through his shirt.

Crawford, on the other hand, was immune to the sudden heat-wave, for he was wearing his usual suit and tie combination. Schuldig had always suspected he slept in it, and thought he was nuts for wearing it today. Then he took a good look at where he was and who he lived with and realised that Crawford wearing a suit on an abnormally hot day was the least of his concerns.

"What now?"  
Schuldig gestured behind him, towards the living room. "The air conditioner's busted again."  
Great. Just what he needed, another repair bill. Crawford knew it would be just as expensive - if not more so - to buy another air conditioner (since this was Tokyo, where everything was expensive to begin with; he never had this problem in America, or Germany, where prices were cut in half on these products). He set his pen down, removed his glasses, and rubbed his weary eyes. He had been staring at these papers for three hours straight now.

"Who broke it _this_ time? So help me God if it was you again-"  
"Relax," said Schuldig, who leaned against the doorway. "It was probably Nagi or Farfarello. Nagi in his anger at God knows what could have snapped and there went our only source of coolness; Farfarello... Well, he likes things with high voltage, and that has what, fifteen amps?"  
Crawford sighed and replaced his glasses.  
"It's too hot to go without it in this freak heat-wave, you know." Crawford wondered if Schuldig was trying to 'suggest' him into getting it fixed or replaced. He knew that look and that tone of voice and knew that it wasn't going to work if that was the case. He leaned back in his chair and rest his head against his hand. He didn't have time for this.

"Tell Farfarello to stop siphoning electricity from it and it will probably work again."  
Schuldig rolled his eyes. "You're just too lazy to call someone to fix it."  
"I'm too _busy_ to have to deal with a repair man right now."  
"You're _not_ 'too busy' to deal with a repair man. It's either that or you don't want to buy a new one."  
Crawford smirked. "Perhaps. Now go play like a good boy, hmm?"  
Schuldig snorted. "Liebes, I thought you would've known by now that I am anything _but_ a good boy." He strode over to Crawford's desk and sat on it, one leg crossed over the other.

"Why are you hanging around here? Don't you have anything better to do?"  
Schuldig chuckled. "What better to do than annoy you? It's one of my favourite past times." He leaned closer, leering at him from under his fringe. Crawford, however, pushed him away.  
"Go away, Schuldig, it's too hot to deal with you today."  
"Maybe if you weren't wearing a suit, you'd be a lot cooler. I can help you with that, you know."  
Crawford didn't fall for the seductive grin. "Go play with Farfarello, I'm sure he could use some company." With that, he shoved Schuldig off his desk, the cue to get the hell out or else.

_Too hot my ass,_ Schuldig thought as he left the office. _Your office is the coolest in the entire flat._

On his way back to his room, where he would try not to bake in the heat, he spotted Farfarello chewing on something.  
Nonchalantly, he said, "Oy, Farfarello, stop gnawing on the wires."  
Farfarello looked disappointed, like a dog scolded and angry at the same time, but nonetheless replaced the plug back into the outlet, bringing the air conditioner back to life.

And then the power went out.  
"Crawford!" came a yell from one of the rooms upstairs. "What the hell, Crawford?"  
Crawford thought to lock his door, but knew that an angry telekinetic would know how to break it off its hinges anyway.


	11. You're On Your Own

**You're On Your Own**  
_scandal_

Crawford couldn't care less if all of Tokyo found out about Hirofumi's failure. He didn't get paid to babysit.

-x-

Crawford sat back in his expensive and rather comfortable executive chair, hands folded in his lap as he tried to hide his triumphant grin. The door to the white painted office opened and there stood Takatori Hirofumi, fear in his eyes and anger on his face.  
"Ah, you must be Mr. Takatori's eldest son," Crawford said, voice smooth, light. "I've heard a lot of things about you. Please, sit." He gestured to the seat placed in front of his desk.  
"It failed," Hirofumi said, ignoring the offered seat.  
Crawford knew what he was referring to, but pretended to be confused. "What failed?"  
"The plan, the Human Hunting Game. It was thwarted by a group of people _trying to kill me_."

Crawford shrugged. "What does this have to do with me?" It wasn't like he was the one who sent Weiß after him.  
"I was hoping you could tell my father that it was out of my hands, that it wasn't my fault."  
Crawford leaned over his desk and peered into Hirofumi's eyes, hands loosely clasped together. There was a hint of amusement in his eyes.  
"Why should I cover up your mistake?"  
"If you don't," Hirofumi said, hands now gripping the back of the chair placed in front of the nearly spotless desk, "there will be a scandal."

Crawford shrugged once more. He still didn't know what this had to do with him, or Schwarz. The little Takatori was not of his concern.  
"It's not my job to cover for you or protect you. You're on your own."  
Hirofumi looked shocked. How dare this man speak to him this way.  
"You protect my father and me by extension."  
Crawford scoffed. "My team of specially trained bodyguards are not the Secret Service like the American president employs. We protect whoever gives us the money." He leaned back in his chair. "I don't see money passing from your hands to mine, Takatori Hirofumi-san."

Schuldig took that moment to enter, a large envelope in his hand. He looked from Crawford to Hirofumi and said, telepathically, "Busy?"  
Crawford signaled no with the slightest shake of his head. "We were just wrapping up this meeting, Schuldig."  
Hirofumi turned around and saw the German standing by the door. Just when did he enter and why didn't he notice?  
"I'm not done with you yet, Crawford," Hirofumi said, his voice low, brows knit together in a look of anger.  
"That's 'Mister Crawford', if you please," Crawford said. "You can talk to your father about it if what I said displeases you, but I have orders from my superiors I must attend to."

Hirofumi straightened up, gave Crawford one last look, and stormed out of his office.  
"Should we close the door?" Schuldig asked in English.  
Crawford shook his head. "They won't understand us; there's no point." He gestured to the folder Schuldig was holding. "Orders from Eszett, I take it?"  
Schuldig made it over to Crawford's desk in three long strides and deposited it on the desktop. "Probably just them checking in."  
Crawford opened the envelope with a letter opener and read the contents.  
"That Hirofumi... He didn't like what you said," Schuldig remarked, hands in his pockets, "but he wouldn't have liked what you were thinking, either."  
Crawford took out a piece of stationery from one of the myriad of desk drawers, half of them locked and needing a key or three.  
"He doesn't have to, and I don't really care." He moved a stack of papers just before Schuldig sat down on it. Schuldig took out a cigarette and lit it. Crawford wrinkled his nose, though he should have been used to Schuldig's smoking by now.  
"Think we'll have to do damage control?" he asked, after a long drag.  
Crawford said nothing for a moment, zoning out briefly. He was searching the immediate future for an answer.

"No. Takatori will take care of his son and we will just sit back and observe. His plan may have failed, but ours is unfolding just as it should."  
Schuldig snorted. "I'm sure those three old bints'll be pleased to hear that."  
"'Three old bints'? Can you at least pretend to be respectful?"  
"Why? We're gonna betray them anyway. Besides, I don't respect anyone except myself. You know that. You also know I'm not the nicest guy on this side of Japan, either."  
Crawford scrawled, in the neatest writing Schuldig had ever seen, a letter telling 'those three old bints' that everything was going just fine, and that everything would be completed soon.  
"Your German sucks," Schuldig commented, reading the letter over Crawford's shoulder. "You call that an eszett? It looks like a 'B' to me."  
"Then _you_ write it."  
"I don't write letters. You don't know what I might put in them."

Crawford could only imagine would Schuldig would put in the letter.


	12. What Do You Have to Say For Yourself?

**What Do You Have to Say For Yourself?**  
_it seemed like a good idea at the time_

The age old question and the age old answer for something done wrong.

-x-

_I've got a clear shot_, Schuldig thought as Farfarello distracted Weiss. The short blond boy—what was his name again?—was shielding a girl shrieking for him to get away. Her shrill cry was hurting his ears and giving him a blaring headache, and he had to try his hardest to not shoot her so she'd shut up. He aimed and was about to make his shot when the stupid bitch got in his way. And just when he was going to 'suggest' she get out of the way—

_Bang_.

_Shit!_ "Goddammit, Farfarello! You weren't supposed to shoot her!" Balinese tried to catch Schuldig in the death grip of his garotte, but Schuldig was too fast for that. Why did Weiss even try to win against people who were just so superior?  
Farfarello merely shrugged as he held both Siberian and Balinese off. "It pains Bombay or whatever his name is, so why are you complaining?"  
"We were given _orders_. That 'banshee' was _Takatori's daughter_."  
Farfarello shrugged again. It didn't make a difference and he didn't see why Schuldig cared so much. In reality, Schuldig couldn't have cared less about the girl, or what Takatori thought or said. He even enjoyed the anguished cries of Bombay as he clutched the dying girl in his arms. It was _Crawford_ who worried him the most. He learned a long time ago to never piss Crawford off. Takatori's anger would be like licks from a puppy in comparison.

_Oh well, casualties happen_, Schuldig thought, though he knew that excuse wouldn't fly well with Crawford, it was the best he could think of right that moment.  
"We're leaving—_now_," he said, grabbing Farfarello. He tried to escape to cause more pain and suffering, especially to Siberian.

They drove off before Weiss could react and follow after them.

-x-

"Explain yourself," Crawford said as he slammed the door to his office closed. Schuldig pictured it ripping free of the hinges and falling to the ground outside Crawford's 'private space'. The thought was kind of funny and he couldn't help but chuckle a little, causing a glare of icy death to be thrown his way thanks to Crawford's bad mood.  
When there was no explanation given from anyone, he said, "Explain to me what I Saw, starting _now_."

He looked to Schuldig and Farfarello to see who was the guilty party. Crawford only Saw Ouka getting shot; he did not know who did the shooting except that it was one of his men. Schuldig sat on Crawford's desk and Farfarello opted to stand near the door, as far away from Crawford as possible. Crawford gave Schuldig such a severe look that it almost wiped the smirk off his face. _Almost_.

"Why are you looking at _me_?" Schuldig asked, attempting to sound innocent. "Just because my name means 'guilty', doesn't mean I did it." _This time_, he felt like adding.  
"Your track record does not speak well in your favour."  
"Look, Crawford. She got in my way, I didn't have time to get her out of my line of sight when Farfarello over here decided it'd be easiest to shoot first and ask questions later. What did you want me to do, jump in front of it myself and ruin my reputation in the process?" He crossed his arms. "I'm a sociopath, not a humanitarian."

Crawford changed the victim of his glare to Farfarello. "What do you have to say for yourself?"  
Farfarello almost said nothing at all. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. Besides, it caused that one Weiss boy such pain, he might kill himself and then our mission would be accomplished anyway." He smiled twistedly.  
Crawford was not amused. "Get out. _Both of you_." He opened the door and practically threw Farfarello out. "I'll put you in your straitjacket in a minute. Nagi! Lock Farfarello in his cell.  
Nagi, who was walking to the kitchen to make himself a sandwich, took one look at Crawford and the Irishman in his grasp and decided it was better to not ask questions. He took hold of Farfarello and led him towards his cell.

"The hell'd _I_ do?" Schuldig asked when Crawford was about to do the same to him.  
"You're giving me a headache," Crawford answered. "I have to see what I can do in terms of damage control."  
"Don't complain about headaches to me unless you've suffered migraines all your life. Then we'll talk."  
"Either make yourself useful and get me an aspirin or get out of my office."  
"What am I, your servant?"  
"Be useful or get out of my sight."  
Schuldig scoffed as he got up and walked over to the door. "Well," he said, leaning against the door jamb, "I guess that's better than, 'Get the hell out of my life.'"

And just as he was about to leave, Schuldig added, "You might want to calm down. You don't want to go grey at twenty-seven or be all wrinkled by thirty, do you?" He grinned. "I can help you with that, you know..." He gripped Crawford's rather expensive tie—Crawford never bought anything cheap in his life, he thought—and yanked hard on it, pulling him down the necessary four inches so he could steal a kiss and possibly piss Crawford off even more.

"Was it _really_ necessary to bite me?"  
Crawford smirked. "Yes. Yes it was."  
Schuldig pouted, but said nothing as he slinked out of Crawford's office and down the hall to the living room.  
_It seemed like a good idea at the time, you know._


	13. Shit Happens

**Shit Happens**  
_oops_

Sometimes Crawford has to do a little damage control.

-x-

Crawford knew Takatori Reiji would not be happy once he heard the news about his daughter Ouka. He didn't even need to rely on that 'bad feeling' he always received - he Saw it himself. He and his teammates waited for the elevator doors to open before taking the familiar route to Takatori's office, the door all the way at the end of the long, winding corridor. Once there, he knocked on the door, dark wood hard under his knuckles. He only knocked twice, the decided 'secret' knock to indicate they were there, that they had business, and that whoever else was in there needed to get the hell out.

There was someone fumbling around on the other side and he looked to Schuldig.  
"He's not alone," he said, answering the unspoken question Crawford posed to him.  
The door opened and standing there was Takatori, glasses askew and a surprised look on his face. Schuldig managed to hide his smirk; he knew exactly who was in there previous. If word got out on who it was...  
"Hello, Mr. Takatori," greeted Crawford, upping the charismatic charm and using his most formal Japanese. "May we come in? There is business to discuss."

Takatori closed the door most of the way and said something in such terse Japanese that Crawford understood little of what he said.  
_He's not happy at us coming unannounced_, Nagi thought, hoping Schuldig would hear it and pass it on to Crawford. Like Crawford would care.  
_Bullshit_, Schuldig said with a roll of his eyes. _He just got caught doing something he wasn't supposed to be doing in the first place. I know for a fact._

The door opened fully again and they were showed in as they were many times before. A quick examination of the room showed there was no one else inside, but they knew better than to assume they were alone. If any witnesses appeared, they would have to dispose of them, and quickly.  
_Clever of him to cover up like that_, Schuldig thought.  
Takatori went back to his mini-golf set, golden club in hand.

"I'm assuming this is about the work I gave you?" He was setting up his swing carefully as Crawford came forward.  
"Yes, of course." He was going to have to work damage control now, before anything had been said.  
"Well? How did it go? Did you kill the brat for me?"  
Crawford took the slightest pause. "Not exactly, I'm afraid."  
Takatori swung and missed. "What do you mean 'not exactly'? I was told your team never failed!"  
"Hey, it happens sometimes," Schuldig said casually. "After all, we're only human."

Takatori menaced him with his golf club. "I wasn't asking _you_," he said, sounding like Schuldig was a second-class citizen in comparison to him. "Mr. Crawford, I demand to know what happened!"  
Crawford looked bemused at the sight of Takatori waving a golf club in their faces. Did he really think that thing could harm him?  
"We shot the wrong person," said Crawford, all business-like in his demeanor. Schuldig mentally praised him for being eloquent for once.  
Takatori closed the distance between the two of them, brows furrowed as he clutched his weapon of choice tightly.

"I thought you said you were hiring the best shooters from Rosen—"  
"I _did_," Crawford interrupted. "But even the best make mistakes."  
"So then who did you hit instead?" He figured it was some bystander and all the witnesses to the crime.  
Crawford looked to Schuldig and Farfarello.  
"We didn't expect the target's girlfriend to show up, and she had tried to block the shot and ultimately succeeded."  
Takatori shrugged. "Well then why the hell do I care? Next time shoot him—"  
"The target and his girlfriend just found out they were brother and sister."

Takatori stood there for a moment, letting the information sink in. Mamoru had a girlfriend and she was his sister...? Then it came to him suddenly like a wave crashing against the sand.  
"You... You killed Ouka?"  
"Scheisse!" Schuldig grabbed at his arm, now bruising from the golf club Takatori wielded with unadulterated fury.

"_You killed my daughter_?" Another whack. Schuldig hissed as he grit his teeth. "Why didn't you move her out of the way?" He punctuated each word with a satisfying whack, blinded by the fury Schuldig's action caused him.  
"Mr. Takatori." Crawford caught the bloodied golf club mid-swing. "It is regrettable, but unchangeable. There was nothing we could do."  
Takatori struggled to bring on last hit down on the telepath, perhaps even kill him as revenge for his beloved daughter, saying through grit teeth, "Well? What do you have to say for yourself, boy?"

Schuldig didn't appreciate the tone Takatori was using. This man wasn't his master and he wasn't his dog.  
"Oops."  
Crawford gave a warning glare at Schuldig for that comment. He 'accidentally' let go of Takatori's arm and let him hit Schuldig in the back.  
_'Oops' indeed_, Crawford thought, and hoped that for once Schuldig could hear him loud and clear. He smirked.  
"Fick dich," Schuldig managed to spit out, keeled over on the floor in pain. Takatori threw out his ruined golf club and opened the door.  
"_Get out_."

Crawford picked Schuldig up and, with Nagi's help, dragged him out the door and down the elevator. The ride down was quiet except for Schuldig muttering obscenities at Takatori in German and English. The elevator opened and they hurried out the door where the car was waiting.  
"Fucking golf clubs," Schuldig muttered as Crawford helped him into the car.  
"Just don't bleed all over the place," Crawford muttered.  
Schuldig scoffed. "God forbid you get your suit a little dirty."  
The door closed behind Nagi and the limo took off.


	14. Don't Burn Down the Kitchen

**Don't Burn Down the Kitchen**  
_chef_

To call Schuldig a chef was like calling a plumber and electrician.

-x-

Schuldig walked languidly down the stairs, hair pulled back loosely, wearing a tank top and shorts that were just barely considered modest. He yawned and wondered if Nagi was a good pup and had retrieved the newspaper yet. He spun around the banister like a professional and landed in the small, inadequate-for-four-people kitchen, with its peeling paint and grease-covered wallpaper.

He expected to find Crawford sitting at the table in the cramped breakfast nook, newspaper opened to the finances, marketing, or stocks sections, balanced breakfast at his elbow, but he wasn't there.

_Am I the first one awake_?

He shrugged, uncaring either way, and opened the freezer to see what it contained that was still edible. He pushed various packages of meat, vegetables, and miscellaneous frozen somethings to the side until he found something microwaveable.

Unlike Crawford, who could make something edible from anything they had, Schuldig was at the mercy of whatever could be thrown into a microwave and consumed thereafter. He was, by no means, a chef. And he was okay with that. After all, the last time he tried to cook, he almost burned the kitchen out. And unlike most rational people, who would have gotten a pot full of water or a fire extinguisher to douse the flames, he just watched as the fire consumed half the kitchen. Nagi ended up putting it out himself and Crawford nearly killed Schuldig. Instead, the repairs came out of his paycheck, which Schuldig was not happy about.

When Crawford waltzed into the kitchen and sniffed around, he commented, "Something is burning."  
Schuldig popped open the microwave and waved away the smoke.  
"It tastes better burnt," he said with a shrug. Crawford shook his head and went to the fridge to get cold cuts out.  
"Stick to making sandwiches," Crawford said, grimacing at the almost charred mess on Schuldig's plate. "You can't screw _that_ up."

_And_, Crawford thought, _who the hell microwaves a poptart, anyway?_


	15. Tell Me When You're Sober

**Tell Me When You're Sober**

_declarations of love_

_It'd be nice if you weren't drunk so I could understand what the hell you're trying to tell me._

_-x-_

**Author's Notes:** This is one of the few Weiss fics I've written where Crawford and Schuldig aren't in Crawford's office, on a rooftop, or in a kitchen. They're in a living room this time. Go me. (Their flat is only so big and there are only so many public areas in their flat.)

I had a lot of fun writing underaged!drunk!Schuldig. And by 'a lot of fun' I mean I had more fun than was probably considered normal. Apparently in Japan the drinking age is twenty (because that's their 'coming-of-age'), but bars apparently don't care so there's lots of underaged drinking. Also the vending machines on pretty much every street corner sell beer. Crawford and Schuldig, being foreigners in Japan, don't know this fact though. But I thought I'd bring it up in case anyone was going to point it out.

Also, one last note. In my head, I don't picture them really speaking English much at their base. I picture them speaking mostly in German since they all pretty much grew up in Rosenkreuz. The exception to this is Nagi, who speaks some English and is prone to Japanglisch (Japanese with English and German) sometimes. Schuldig and Crawford speak both English and German and Schuldig has an accent that's noticeable only if you listen real close and if he says certain words. Or if he's drunk. If Schuldig's not speaking English, he's speaking German. He doesn't know Japanese, despite what Midorikawa Hikaru might lead you to believe.

-x-

"Hey, Crawford… I got something to tell you," said Schuldig as he stumbled into the living room, shirt half undone and gait unsteady. All Crawford understood was his name (which had too much emphasis on the 'a's and the 'd' was an extremely emphasized 't'). The rest was a mishmash of syllables that might not have even been English. Not that Schuldig really spoke much English at the flat anyway.

Crawford's eyes never left the infomercial that dared to interrupt a documentary on some sort of ancient civilization that looked suspiciously like Rome. Crawford understood little of it since he only took the _Introduction to Business Japanese_ courses at Rosenkreuz.

"What is it?" Crawford ignored the slurring—this was a normal occurrence, but that didn't make Schuldig any easier to understand—and focused on getting this over as quick as possible.

Schuldig made his way over to the couch in the darkened room where Crawford was sitting, and leaned heavily against him after flopping clumsily onto the piece of furniture. It groaned in protest and Crawford almost ended up sitting on the wooden armrest. Schuldig reeked of vodka and stale cigarettes and shampoo and something else Crawford didn't want identified, but it smelled like really cheap perfume. He winced and moved as far away from him as possible.

"I have a confession to make," Schuldig drawled, placing all emphasis on his vowels and treating them as if they were umlauted. "A really _big_ confession. Might change the whole course of history even." He waved his arms around as if he was conjuring images in the air, which in his mind, he probably was.

"Schuldig, everyone in Schwarz has their proverbial closeted skeletons. What makes you think that I want to know about them—" Crawford was stopped mid-sentence by Schuldig cuddling up to him.

_Just how far gone __**are**__ you?_ Crawford knew that on a normal day Schuldig would have been able to hear that, but alcohol blocked all hopes of Schuldig's gift working until it was flushed out of his bloodstream.

"You're not listening to me," Schuldig said, pouting. "I'm tryna tell you something."

"Schuldig, you're slurring all of your words and that makes you hard to—"

"I'm _not_ slurring my words. I'm perfectly coherent!"

_Maybe in your mind you are._ "Just spit it out already, Schuldig. I'm tired and I don't have the patience to deal with your drunken ass right now."

Schuldig pulled away from Crawford and folded his arms.

"I don't even know how they let you in the bars anyway," Crawford muttered as the narrator on the television went on about Roman forms of entertainment.

"It's… It's 'cause I look old for my age. Fifteen going on thirty, y'know?"

"Get to the point."

"Well, let me tell you a secret, Brad. Well actually, no, I'm not gonna tell you."

Crawford wanted to smack himself in the head.

"I'm gonna have you _guess_."

"Schuldig, I am not in the mood for guessing games. It's one in the morning. I'm tired."

Schuldig grinned. "Oh, but this is a _fun_ game! All the girls at that bar certainly liked all my guessing games. Mostly about the size of my—"

"_Schuldig_."

"All right, all right, Brad. Calm the fuck down, 'kay?" Schuldig was back to invading Crawford's personal space. "So, Bradley, tell me something."

Crawford sighed. "My name isn't Bradley, Schuldig. We've been over this."

Schuldig ignored him and kept going. "Haven't you noticed my looks of longing? The lovey-dovey telepathic messages of love?" He got even closer, which meant he was practically in Crawford's lap. "Brad… Brad, I love you."

Crawford mentally counted to ten before answering.

"Schuldig… How many drinks did you have? Are you drunk?"

Schuldig laughed as if that was the funniest thing he was ever told.

"No! No, of course not! I'm not _drunk_, okay? I'm totally fucking _hammered_ to the point where it's completely silent." And he grinned as if that was the most rational answer ever.

_At least he's honest_.

Crawford turned the television off, having enough gladiator action for one night, and got up from the couch.

"Where you going?"

"To bed," Crawford answered simply. "You should too or you'll regret it in the morning."

"But—"

Crawford gave him a look and Schuldig pouted again.

"Can I sleep with you?"

Crawford stopped in the doorway.

"Schuldig, you are fifteen years old. You have your own bed."

_Besides, if you get sick from your night out, I don't want to hear or see it_.

"But—"

"_Go to bed_." Crawford didn't even wait for a response before he left to take up his own advice.

-x-

_Why hello voices threatening to kill their bosses, why are you in my head?_ Schuldig rubbed his eyes and squinted against the sunlight coming through the curtains. Slowly he sat up and instantly regretted it.

_Oh, they're just Crawford's thoughts. Never mind_. He stared at the wall across from his bed, which separated his room from Crawford's office.

He stumbled out of bed and looked in the mirror.

"Oh God, what the hell did I do last night?" he asked as he examined his face in the mirror. "I look like some drunken hussy instead of the usually hot, gorgeous redhead I see every morning." He frowned as he ran his fingers through his hair, looking around for his pants and finding them nowhere.

"_Fuck_, what _did_ I do last night? Did I give some slut my pants or something?"

Crawford, who angrily slammed his door closed, knocked on Schuldig's door.

"Crawford, have you seen my—"

Schuldig saw the look on Crawford's usually composed face and smirked.

_They're on my floor_, Crawford thought, too embarrassed to say anything aloud, despite the fact that it was just him and Schuldig living there.


	16. Learned to be Lonely

**Learned to Be Lonely**

_lonely_

_What kind of mother leaves their son all alone? It was her fault he was here in the first place._

_-x-  
_

He hated them—loathed them. Hated how they left him all alone in this God forsaken place filled with so-called 'normal' children, happy children. When one was brave enough to approach him, try to become his friend, God would hurt them, make them pay for knowing he existed. They said it was all his fault that that girl was dead after speaking with that boy, killed her because he was 'jealous'. He didn't even know what jealousy was.

There was no place for him here and they made that known. Threw rocks at him when his back was turned, called him names and called him a freak of nature. One even said he was an abomination to God himself. He would scream at them that this wasn't true, couldn't be true, otherwise he would have been dead a long time ago, but no one listened. No one cared except for the woman in charge, who insisted he call 'Mother', like all the other children did.

His mother was the reason he was here in the first place, wasn't it? She left him all alone after all. What kind of mother does that? 'Mother' tried to be kind, tried to be patient, for she knew he was smart and lonely. He didn't want her pity; he just wanted to be left alone.

-x-

"What is he doing?" whispered one girl in response to his latest outburst.

"He's making the objects go float," whispered another. "Look at his eyes—they're all red like the evil dragons in the stories Mother reads to us!"

"What a freak!" cried another, making no effort to stay hushed. They all left him outside in the rain by himself, deeming him a threat. Even Mother made no attempt to usher him inside.

Was there anyone in the world who wanted him?


	17. We Don't Have a Spare Eyepatch

**We Don't Have a Spare Eyepatch**

_it's all fun and games until somebody loses an eye_

_"I mean it's all fun and games until someone loses an eye. I suppose to him it'd be hilarious until my blood seeped into the carpeting."_

_-x-  
_

"Schuldig."  
Schuldig sat on the edge of the tub with a wet cloth pressed against one half of his face, hiding a gash from a golf club being swung at his face. The twenty-two year old was fascinated by how quickly his blood was soaked up by the material, but at the same time, depressed by the damage done to his face.

He looked up when his name was called, mostly out of habit and partially because of how Crawford, whose grasp with languages was sometimes iffy at best, tripped over the syllables.  
"Let me see."  
Schuldig pulled the washcloth away from his face and winced when Crawford moved him by his chin. The bleeding had slowed and a deep red line painted itself down the line of Schuldig's jaw and met its demise on the bathroom tile.

"I don't think you need stitches," Crawford said at last.  
"Thank God," Schuldig said as Crawford moved away from Schuldig and towards the first aid kit. "Otherwise I'd fucking sue that bastard for all he was worth. Or at least have him pay for my emergency room visit."  
Crawford dabbed some sort of liquid onto a dry rag and handed it to Schuldig.  
"Put that on the cut and hold it there until I get some gauze together."

Schuldig took the peroxide-soaked rag and threw the bloodied one in the tub, wincing when the peroxide met with his gash.  
"Bastard's lucky he didn't cause me to lose an eye or something."  
Crawford moved Schuldig's hand away from his face and pressed a gauze pad against the wound, keeping it in place with tape.  
"I mean it's all fun and games until someone loses an eye. I suppose to him it'd be hilarious until my blood seeped into the carpeting."

Crawford washed his hands thoroughly before putting the first aid kit away.  
"Well lucky for you, he missed your eyes and I prevented him from cracking your head open."  
Schuldig chuckled and winced. "Too bad you couldn't have prevented him from cracking two of my ribs. What kind of precognitive are you?"  
Crawford readjusted his glasses and wiped up the blood on the floor with a thick towel.  
"An excellent one who thought you deserved it for shooting his daughter from twelve feet away."  
"That was Farfarello, not me. How many times do I have to tell you this?"

Crawford chuckled before turning out the light in the bathroom.  
"I swear, once SZ tells us that Takatori has outlived his usefulness, I'm going to be first in line for fucking him up. I'll even give him a fighting chance, unless what he did scars my face, in which case, I'll just fuck his mind up until it's nothing but goo and _then_ kill him. Very, very slowly. That way I'll enjoy it, like a fine wine."  
"Whatever you want, Schuldig. Until then, you are not to harm Mr. Takatori."

In all truthfulness, Crawford wanted to crack the man in the jaw as well. He almost killed Schuldig. Takatori had no idea how rare telepaths were, never mind _good_ ones who actually lived past their teens. And they were expensive because they were all addicted to something. Takatori would be sorry indeed.

That and Schuldig was the only one Farfarello actually _liked_.


	18. People Write About Us?

**People Write Stories About Us?**

_characters reading fanfiction_

_Crawford is never going to let Schuldig use the internet ever again._

_-x-  
_

Schuldig arrived in Crawford's office holding a stack of papers, and tried his hardest to not break out in laughter. Crawford did not appreciate the interruption, but learned the hard way he shouldn't ignore Schuldig and instead humour him. He would get out of his hair faster.

"Hey, Crawford," he said, kicking the door closed behind him, "get a load'a this." He slammed the paper stack on the keyboard of Crawford's laptop, looking smug as usual. Crawford picked up the top sheet by the top corner and read the first sentence.  
"What the hell is this?" He looked at Schuldig and the telepath knew the question he wanted to ask: Is this a _joke_?  
"It's not a joke and it's called 'fanfiction'. That—" He pointed to the story Crawford had the misfortune of reading. "—is called an 'alternate universe'."

Crawford readjusted his glasses.  
"So in this I am...seventeen—"  
"Which was _so long ago_..."  
Crawford gave him a silent warning to shut up and thought, _Twenty-seven is **not** ancient, you know_, hoping Schuldig was eavesdropping on his thoughts, which he probably was. Schuldig was nosy like that, which would have annoyed Crawford regardless of the fact that he was also a telepath.

"And you're...eleven?"  
Schuldig nodded. "Though if you want me to be honest—not like I never am, and even if you didn't want my honest opinion, I'd say it anyway—that doesn't even _act_ like me. Since when was I a simpering, weepy little boy who cried at the drop of a hat?"  
"Never," Crawford said matter-of-factly. He had known Schuldig since he entered Rosenkreuz when he was eleven—Crawford was sixteen then. "You picked fights with the guards, you tried to skip your lessons—which might explain why you make ineffective mental shields—you were completely self-absorbed, and you tried to escape three—"  
"Four," Schuldig corrected. "Tried to escape _four_ times."  
"Four times too many."  
"It's easier to break out of prison than Rosenkreuz. Not that I've ever been in prison, mind."

Crawford read more of the story Schuldig gracelessly left on his laptop and stared at it incredulously.  
"'Bradley-chan'?"  
Schuldig sat on the arm of Crawford's chair. Crawford, miraculously, did not notice, and he was one to notice _everything_.  
"...Your name is Bradley?"  
Crawford looked at Schuldig over the tops of his spectacles. "No, it isn't. It's 'Brad'. You should know that, even though I don't use it."  
"Aww, it's because you hate it, isn't it?"

Crawford glared and momentarily placed the story down.  
"At least I _have a name_."  
Schuldig scoffed. "So do I. You don't honestly think that my mother named me 'Schuldig', do you? Unlike you, I have a perfectly normal German name, and you will never find out because it's not important enough to me."  
There was silence as Crawford read further. It was like a trainwreck in that once gazed upon, it was hard to pull your eyes away, often leading to a car accident or similar.

"Why does this read like a bastardized, gender-bent version of 'Lolita'?"  
Schuldig shrugged. "I found it amusing as fuck. I thought Mr. Stick-Up-His-Arse would find it somewhat amusing too. Better than all that paperwork, anyway." He flipped through the stack still on Crawford's laptop. "By the way, there's more where that came from. It's all over the internet if you know where to look..."

Crawford noticed Schuldig was grinning like a deranged Cheshire cat. Any normal person confronted with that look would have backed up and away from the strange looking telepath, but this was Crawford. He had been living with Schuldig for twelve years. The only thing he didn't trust him with was a razor.

"What is that look for?"  
"Oh nothing," Schuldig said, brushing it off, as he stood from his not-so-comfortable seat. The grin was still there. "It's just that there's this one story where you and I..." He leered at Crawford then, hoping that was enough for him to finish the sentence.  
"In your dreams."

Schuldig headed for the door, hands in his pockets looking for his pack of cigarettes.  
"The day you can see my dreams is the day I can chuck people out the window with my mind." He found his cigarettes and put one in his mouth and he opened the door to Crawford's office.  
"Anyway, enjoy the what're-they-called...the fanfiction story things. I'm sure you'll be mildly amused. Or, at the very least, mildly disturbed. See ya!" He took his leave just as he took out his lighter and lit his cigarette. Crawford didn't like him smoking in his office and Schuldig, for whatever reason, always respected that fact.

Crawford stared at the huge pile of fanfiction for a second or two, contemplating what to do with it. He pushed it aside, made sure there was no permanent damage to his laptop, and continued on with his paperwork.

He would not let himself read those stories with him and Schuldig. They would give him mental images he could not afford to have. Mostly because Schuldig would pick them up in his own head and get the wrong idea.

_There are no secrets in this house._


	19. Jetzt hab ich dich

**Jetzt hab ich dich**

_Are you insane?_

_Crawford just had to ask. "Are you insane?" And Schuldig grinned dementedly. "Do you really have to ask that?"_

-x-

_Der Wahnsinn_

_ist nur eine schmale Brücke_

_die Ufer sind Vernunft und Trieb_

_ich steig dir nach_

_Ich warte bis es dunkel ist  
dann fass ich an die nasse Haut  
verrate mich nicht_

_Jetzt hab ich dich_

There he was sitting in the rain, red hair sticking to his face, fanned over his back, wet rivulets pouring down the side of his face. His icy blue eyes pierced through the dark, unnerving anyone who gazed upon him. It looked like he was stalking his prey, arms hooked around the metal railing. He didn't care about the cold or the rain. The silence between them unnerved Crawford; he knew he was the only one who heard silence—Schuldig wouldn't ever understand what silence even sounded like, having heard voices in his head for the past twenty-two years of his life.

Schuldig stood and walked over to Crawford slowly and for once Crawford wasn't wearing a stupid suit, having just returned home. Schuldig was going to take advantage of the fact that Crawford was wearing less clothing than usual, and contemplated all the uses his tie could provide him. Stalking his prey, studying his every move, hearing every thought—nothing was secret when you had a telepath in the house. Crawford was waiting patiently as always for Schuldig to brush past and enter the house without a second glance at him. After all, Schuldig always walked with that self-important spring in his step.

_Have any weird visions lately?_ Schuldig smirked when he was only a few feet away from Crawford.

_Not that I can recall_, Crawford thought. Then his eyes narrowed slightly as he stood cross-armed in the doorway. _Should I have?_

_Maybe you should check_.

Just as Crawford was about to peek into the near future, Schuldig pushed him against the door he kicked closed without him noticing—Crawford was slacking, it seemed. Crawford's wrists were pinned to either side of his head as Schuldig went for the kill in the form of a kiss, his tongue sweeping through before his bit Crawford's lip hard and Crawford had to practically, almost _literally_ fight Schuldig for control. He pushed against Schuldig and pinned him against the wall with his hips; fingers tugged at his hair as Schuldig's other hand tugged on his collar. Just when Crawford thought he had won the battle and the war, Schuldig flipped him over and bit his neck, drawing blood, telling him that he was in control for once.

"Hey, Crawford," Schuldig said breathlessly, keeping Crawford pinned against the door. Crawford examined him over his spectacles and Schuldig nearly laughed at him.

_That Crawford, thinking he can catch me off guard so he can be on top again._

"What?" Crawford tried to make himself a little more comfortable and he swallowed a moan caused by Schuldig not-so-subtly shoving his leg in between Crawford's thighs.

"Let's fuck in the rain."

_What?_ "Are you insane?"

Schuldig grinned dementedly. "Do you really have to ask that?"

Crawford said nothing, though he knew Schuldig expected an answer from him.

_We can drag that futon out onto the roof and fuck on that if you're worried about getting all wet and chafey._

Schuldig lit a cigarette as Crawford went inside to get the futon out of the bedroom that used to belong to Nagi.

"This better be mindblowing," said Crawford when Schuldig pushed him down onto the futon mat.

"Don't worry," Schuldig said as he climbed on top of Crawford and undid his tie. "I know how you like it."

Schuldig tied Crawford's wrists to the railing surrounding the edges of the rooftop using his not-really-expensive-but-not-that-cheap-either silk tie that was, thankfully, not his favourite one to wear, and kissed him hard.

_Jetzt hab ich dich._

_Insanity  
is only a narrow bridge  
the banks are reason and desire  
I'm after you_

_I wait until it is dark  
then I touch your wet skin  
don't betray me_

_Now I have you. - "Du riechst so gut", Rammstein  
_


	20. Fatherly Misery

**Fatherly Misery**

_Sad_

_Though I'm not your real father, I've always treated you like a son. It's hard for any parent to see their child leave and never come back._

_-x-  
_

"I'm leaving."

No, "Hello, Crawford, can I come in?" or even a "good morning" before entering, just a light knock on the door, a slight pause, and then that.

"Sit down," Crawford said, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. It was a comfortable armed chair positioned at an angle to the desk and he took it with grace, his eyes focused on his hands. Even in his personal life, Crawford kept up the calm, quiet demeanor that befitted someone who was the leader of a bodyguard team.

"I'm leaving," he repeated, his gaze going straight from his hands to Crawford's eyes. Crawford didn't react at all to it—he had seen this coming, knew that as soon as Farfarello left that his team would fall apart. But Crawford didn't expect him to be the next one.

"What made you make this decision?" Crawford sat up in his chair more, giving the air of a businessman in the face of an employee about to hand in his two weeks' notice.

"I would have expected you to have known already the 'why'."

Crawford clasped his hands together and rested his chin on them.

"Even if I could _see_ the 'why', I would still want an explanation. Now start explaining."

Crawford's gaze unnerved him and, at the same time, annoyed him. Why should he have to know why he wanted to leave? With Farfarello gone, the team was pretty much done and over with; they were little more than a bunch of sociopathic housemates.

Crawford hadn't seen this part. "Job?"

"Yes. Since the Elders are gone and Eszett has cut us loose, there's no point in me hanging around here anymore."

Crawford shifted in his chair. This was turning out to be an interesting day after all.

"You can't just expect me to cut you loose just because Eszett decided we are of no use to them any longer. I am still your boss."

He stood up and Crawford did nothing to stop him. What was the point? He had nothing to make him stay anyway, there was nothing left.

"Just let me go, Crawford. I'm not a child anymore."

He turned to leave, but something Crawford said stopped him.

"It's hard for a parental figure to let their 'child' go, even if the circumstances are right for it, Nagi."

Nagi was taken aback by Crawford's words. Did he really consider him like a son?

"Crawford…"

Crawford nodded. "Go. You have my permission."

Nagi stared at him for a brief second more before leaving his office.

-x-

"Schuldig… I was thinking..."

"You want to leave this place," Schuldig finished, staring at Crawford over the magazine he was reading. He shrugged. "Doesn't bother me. Farfarello and Nagi both left. Makes sense for you to, too."

Crawford watched Schuldig carefully. "You're okay with this? We've been here together for a long time…"

Schuldig went back to his magazine. "It's not like you really ever gave a shit about me anyway. Or what I thought." He turned the page, keeping everything casual. "Go ahead. Leave me here by myself. See if I care."

Crawford pulled the magazine away from Schuldig's face and looked into his eyes. "You know better than to think I think that." _You __**should**__ know I don't think like that._

"I just figured that you'd want to live a normal life by yourself, maybe get married, have a kid or two, and pretend that the last twenty seven years of your life was a lie or a dream or something. Then you'd forget I ever existed and…" He shrugged again. "I don't care."

Crawford shook his head. "I'm not going to _leave you_."

Schuldig snorted. "Yeah. That's what I've been told my entire life. Look at how I turned out."

"Will you listen to me, Schuldig? For once, can you keep your snarky, sarcastic comments to yourself for _five minutes_?"

Schuldig said nothing. He didn't want a pissed off Crawford.

"I'm not going to leave you. I was going to ask if you wanted to come _with me_."

The flat was so quiet, they could hear noise filter in from their neighbours' flats.

_Come with me._

Schuldig chuckled. "Well it's not like I have anywhere else to go. Besides, Schwarz has always pretty much been my family. I can't leave that behind."

Crawford straightened himself and readjusted his tie. "I'm glad to hear that."

"Hey, Crawford."

Crawford, who was about to leave Schuldig's room, turned back.

"What?"

Schuldig was on all fours on his bed; his hand darted out and grabbed Crawford's tie, dragging Crawford back over to the bed. His lips met Crawford's and before Crawford could react, Schuldig was away and on his back, magazine on his lap.

"You need some cheering up. Ever since Nagi left, you've been sorta…down."

Crawford looked to the future to see what Schuldig meant by 'cheering up'. When he saw Schuldig on top of him, hair all disheveled, eyes half-lidded and his mouth open in a loud moan, he dismissed the vision of the future and loosened his tie. Schuldig smirked.

"Grab a beer, I'll go put some TV on and you can wallow in your fatherly misery while watching the evening news." _And then I'll strike when you're drunk and can't resist me._

Crawford, as if knowing what Schuldig was thinking, thought, _Why not just give me a 'get drunk and fuck me' suggestion?_

"I _could_ do that, but that wouldn't be as _fun_."


	21. You're Late

**You're Late**

_waiting_

_Schuldig groans as he wraps a leg around Crawford's waist, exposing his neck to Crawford's mouth, fingers tugging on his hair. "You're late, Crawford."_

_-x-  
_

He is barely inside when he is pulled through the door, lips on his as fingers rake through his hair, pull at the suit jacket. Crawford groans in surprise as he is pressed against the front door, teeth nipping at his lip, his tongue. He didn't see this coming. Then again, he didn't think to check, either.

"You're late," Schuldig says in between kisses, parting Crawford's legs with his knee. Crawford drops the suitcase he is holding and instead switches places with his redhead.

Yes, his sexy, obnoxious redhead. Schuldig hisses and nips his ear.

"I can hear what you're thinking, you know," he mutters as Crawford makes short work of the jeans he is wearing.

"What am I thinking then?" Crawford bites back a moan as Schuldig grinds his hip into his.

"You want to fuck me through the door." He smirks as Crawford pulls down his jeans, grateful Schuldig usually doesn't wear underwear.

_Fuck me_, Schuldig suggests, all the while his mouth is once again preoccupied. _Fuck me until the door falls off. Then fuck me on the floor._

Schuldig thinks he has waited long enough—two weeks, in fact—for Crawford to return home from his business trip with Takatori. He groans as he wraps a leg around Crawford's waist, exposing his neck to Crawford's mouth, fingers tugging on his hair.

"Don't leave for that long ever again."


	22. I'll Have Cocoa With My Vodka

**I'll Have Some Cocoa With My Vodka**

_Cocoa_

_Everything tastes better with alcohol. At least, that's what the people in the bar always said._

_-x-  
_

Schuldig hated the cold. He hated the winter as well, now that he thought about it. The cold meant that Crawford drank twice as much coffee, leaving Schuldig without his caffeine fix. There was a bunch of sugar loaded energy drinks and soda in the fridge, but Schuldig hated soda and feared he would end up in a diabetic coma if he had one of those energy drinks; he didn't like tea, so that wasn't an option—the only tea he liked was a Long Island iced tea, and that had nothing to do with tea. There was water, of course, but Schuldig only drank that when he was hungover.

He slammed the fridge door closed and slumped into one of the kitchen chairs, annoyed at how little there was in the fridge period except for the twenty-four pack of beer and the pitcher of water. Nagi entered the room just as Schuldig began muttering in German about how Crawford was a lazy bastard, and how dare he drink all the coffee and not bother to buy more, the cheap bastard. Nagi simply shook his head and went straight for the hot cocoa mix.

"Hot chocolate is a good coffee substitute," Nagi said as he put water into the tea kettle. Though his German wasn't the best, he could make out enough of what Schuldig was complaining about.

_Yeah, but it's not coffee_. "Hot chocolate is like coffee for people who don't want to drink coffee and enjoy the sweet bitter taste it offers." Schuldig did not approve of taking the wimpy way out.

"I'll add some leftover vodka to yours to give it…a 'kick'," Nagi offered as he went about making the mix telekinetically. Schuldig shrugged.

"After all, don't you always say, 'Everything tastes better with alcohol in it'?"

Schuldig scoffed. "I don't, but the people down at the bar do. They're alcoholics, though."

Nagi grabbed the vodka from the counter and added it to Schuldig's mug, followed by boiling hot water and cocoa mix.

"Doesn't that mean you're an alcoholic as well?"

Schuldig took his mug and glared at Nagi. _I'm not an alcoholic_, he said telepathically, taking a sip of his hot vodka cocoa. It burned his throat, but that was how Schuldig liked most of his beverages.

"If you're not an alcoholic, then I'm Crawford's son," Nagi said, sitting down at the table with a mug of his own.

"Well, you could be. He'd had to've banged and knocked up a chick when he was twelve, though, but it's possible." He laughed. "Just think, you could've been the child of Crawford and Sylvia."

_Who's Sylvia?_

"Some bitch Crawford and I knew back in Rosenkreuz. She was gone by the time you were enrolled."

"Ah," Nagi said, and then took a sip of hot chocolate.

"You know, I think those drunks at the bar are right, though. Everything _does_ taste better with alcohol." Schuldig stood from the chair, mug in hand, and raised his drink appreciatively. "Thanks, Nagichen." He left before Nagi could get pissed at the 'chen' suffix.

-x-

Crawford woke up around noon on his rare day off and shrugged on a bathrobe, wanting some breakfast first before heading into the shower and getting ready for the day ahead. He still wasn't sure what he was going to do, but he had an idea. Maybe sit out on the balcony with that book he had for years and hadn't finished yet; he simply didn't have much time for it. He could work on that report to Eszett tomorrow.

He made his way into the kitchen and saw, on a large sheet of paper, a note taped to the front of the fridge. On the sheet of paper was a rudely written reminder in German that read thus:

_Crawford—_

_We're out of coffee, don't know if you knew that or not—you probably did since you're A) a fucking precognitive and B) you were the one who drank it all—but in any case we're out and instead of doing the right thing you decided to just not buy more. You cheap and lazy bastard. Go buy more. I had to drink fucking hot cocoa with vodka in it that Nagi made just so I could get that buzz I wanted._

The neat German handwriting and crude language could only mean it was Schuldig's. Crawford shook his head and threw out the reminder. Schuldig could complain all he wanted, but he couldn't tell him what to do. He went in the small freezer and took out a package of waffles.

_God forbid he actually do something himself._


	23. Clipped Wings

**Clipped Wings**

_wings_

_At Rosenkreuz, they liked their students to obey orders without question, whether they agreed with them or not. There was, however, one boy who refused to have his wings clipped and play the part of obedient dog._

-x-

**Author's Note:** Before we start, I just want to explain Schuldig's hair colour. In my headcanon, I picture Schuldig as a natural blond, more of like...a golden blond. But you know, there are lots of blonds in Germany. Brunets too. So he likes to dye his hair.

This was to stave off the, "But Schuldig's hair is RED," comments. I know his hair is red. But that doesn't mean his hair is naturally red/was always red. I like speculating about these things.

-x-

"Have you ever clipped a bird's wings before, Brad?"

He hated that name, hated being called Brad. They probably knew it, too, was probably the reason they did it. Loathed them with every ounce of his being, but he played along because he had no other choice. He didn't feel much like dying. They marched in time together, their boots rhythmically beating against the stone used for the lower levels of the School. Crawford didn't know why they insisted on calling it a school when it was more like a prison. Then again, maybe schools were prisons parents sent their darling little angels off to; he didn't have anything to compare it to since he never went to school.

"No, sir, I can't say I have."

They stopped in front of a large metal door, rust eating away at the paint that proclaimed this the 'detention centre'. Crawford had been in here once, when they took him in five years ago. He never wanted to be in there again; the cold, dark atmosphere constricted his lungs, played tricks on his mind, made him frightful. The constant flashes between the present and the future didn't exactly help matters either.

The man grinned and Crawford noticed the sadistic tinge to it, wondering exactly what the person behind the door had done to deserve such a smile. He punched in a security code on the keypad right next to the door and the lock made an audible _click_ noise.

"Well then you're in for a treat." He was acting like a child on Christmas morning and it was setting Crawford on edge. He turned the door knob and pulled the door open, gesturing for Crawford to go ahead inside. He did so and inwardly jumped when the door creaked closed behind them.

The room was just as he remembered it: dark save for the single light above the lone chair in the room, cold and damp and constricting. Shadows danced along the stone walls as another man, taller than the one Crawford was with, circled the boy in the chair very slowly, hands clasped behind his back and with a look of glee.

_Someone must have won the lottery_, Crawford thought, and his look as blank as he thought appropriate. After all, it wasn't like anyone could read his thoughts. He knew the man who came with him, Fredrich, was a pyrokinetic and the man with the child, Richard, was some type of empath.

The boy looked up to face the newcomers, piercing blue eyes glaring at them from beneath a cascade of blond hair, hands tied behind the back of the chair. There was a bruise forming on his cheek, just underneath his right eye, and he looked ready to try to punch someone's lights out.

_I don't think they've won any lottery_, came a voice from within Crawford's head. It was in German and Crawford recognized it as someone else's voice. _Unless, of course, I'm the lottery._

Crawford was glad he could keep up a blank, calm demeanor, even if that wasn't exactly how he felt.

"This is a boy we found outside of Potsdam," said Fredrich as he moved closer to the boy tied to a chair. "He put up a good fight, but… We managed to take him down real easy thanks to Richard here." He turned to Richard. "Has he said anything yet?"

Richard shook his head. "Nothing aside from some vulgarities, Colonel."

"Well then, I think it's time we had him talk, hmm?" Fredrich turned to Crawford then, a gleam in his eyes. "Brad, come here."

Crawford did as told. He was not one to disobey orders; he knew the consequences well.

"This is your chance to capture a beautiful bird and clamp down on his wings. Don't disappoint me."

Fredrich gestured to Richard and the two of them left, Fredrich hanging around long enough to say, "Just press the button by the door to tell us you're done. We will be waiting to hear your results."

Before Crawford could protest or ask any questions, Fredrich was gone, leaving him alone with this boy and no information to go on.

He looked at the boy for a moment, wondering what to ask, if he should be gentle or rough. Would he try to fight him? He didn't even know what kind of 'gift' he had. For all he knew, he could have been a telekinetic.

"What is your name?" His voice was firm, commanding. He was in charge of this interrogation, he was going to show this boy that fact.

The boy chuckled weakly. "I have none to tell of. None to tell _you_, anyway."

Crawford could see this was not going to be an easy, smooth operation. Crawford saw an open file on the table not far from the chair and glanced through it. In it was a packet of papers paperclipped together; the top sheet had all the basic information such as name, birth date, age; on top of that was a picture, generic as far as portraits went, of a smiling blond boy that matched the child sitting in the room. He read through his name, hoping this would get him to talk.

"Your file says your name is Erich Tillermann." He looked from the file to the boy. "Do you deny this?"

The boy said nothing. Crawford pursed his lips.

"I _said_, do you deny this?"

Still no response. Crawford was getting annoyed and it didn't take much for him to be.

"I have ways of getting the information out of you, you know… We could do this the easy way, where you answer the questions that I ask with the information I want, or we could do this the hard way, which is not something that you would want, trust me." Crawford knew from experience exactly what the 'hard way' entailed and it was not pleasant. Then again, Rosenkreuz wasn't exactly a happy place.

"If it's in my file, then why are you asking me these stupid questions?" Erich asked, eyes still narrowed. He obviously didn't think too fondly of Crawford. "Either tell me where the heck I am, or release me so I can go back to my parents." He scoffed, then muttered, "Not like they'd even notice I was gone or anything…"

"It's for the record," Crawford said, wondering if interrogations took this long. His certainly didn't. Then again, they used the hard way, which was a lot quicker. Beating information out of an impressionable, easily broken child was easier than asking them questions and getting redirects as answers. "We want this confirmed."

Erich shrugged. He didn't give a damn what it was for. The rope binding his wrists was biting into his flesh; he just wanted to get out of here.

"So," Crawford began, getting back to his original question, "is your name Erich Tillermann?"

"Yes," Erich hissed. "But my father…" He chuckled. "My father never called me that. He calls me something else—a name I feel suits me better."

"And that would be?" He pondered about whether or not it was okay to make amendments to the person's profile. He had never looked in someone's record before, not even his own, and Fredrich didn't exactly tell him how to go about the interrogation. They just expected him to wing it. Well, Crawford reasoned, he was smart enough to make his own decisions, despite being only eleven years old. He was one of the few who survived long enough to see their tenth birthday.

"Schuldig," Erich answered, the syllables rolling off his tongue in a way that temporarily transfixed Crawford. "My father blamed me for everything, so that meant I was guilty even when I wasn't. He's quite smart—for a big-shot."

Crawford then decided to ask the all important question: "What is your gift?"

Schuldig rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't call it a gift. But if you're just _dying_ to know—or it's for your record or whatever—then I'll tell you."

For a moment, nothing else was said.

_I can hear people's thoughts, get inside your head, and have you do whatever I say._

Schuldig grinned—Crawford thought that such a facial expression made him look like a lunatic—and Crawford made note of it on his profile. It seemed that the recruiter hadn't done a good job at typing up his report.

_Telepathy_. Crawford had never known a telepath before. Well, he did know a couple.

They never lasted more than a month before killing themselves.

"Now if that's all," Schuldig said, wriggling in his seat, "I'm ready for my hands to be untied so you can properly clip my wings, shove me in a cage, and make me sing a song for you."

Crawford went over by the door and pressed the button. A loud _buzz_ emitted from somewhere outside.

_He won't last a month here._


	24. Feels Like Home

**Feels Like Home**

_Home_

_Home is where the heart is._

_-x-  
_

"So… What do you think?" Schuldig asks as the wind catches his hair, blowing it up and out of his face. "_I_ think it feels like home." He takes a drag from his cigarette and turns towards me, searching for my approval as he releases the smoke from his mouth.

"Are you sure this is the original site?" I ask around the unlit cigarette in my mouth. It is too windy to have a cigarette lit around here and actually enjoy it. Schuldig doesn't care about that though. He pulls his coat closer to him as a particularly strong and chilling breeze passes through. This area of Germany is always windy.

"I couldn't forget this place for anything." He sits down in the dirt, pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his arms on top of them. "Besides, it has that home-y smell to it."

I move closer to him and sit down on the edge of the concrete patio siding, the wind tousling our hair.

"I think that 'smell' is my cologne," I say, peering off into the distance. Schuldig shivers once more as the front of his jacket blows open.

"To me there's no difference." He looks at me, wind blowing his hair all about him. "To me, home is wherever my heart is."

I chuckle and smirk as I finally light my cigarette. The wind isn't going to die down any time soon and I can't wait anymore. "And where would that happen to be?" I'm amused and he notices. He reaches out to me, fingers outstretched, as he sinks the tips into where my heart is.

"With yours," he replies, and for the longest moment, neither of us talk.

"I thought you said I had no heart?"

"Oh, but you do," he says through his cigarette. "You stole mine so you had one." He gets up off the ground and brushes the dirt off the seat of his jeans; using the dirt to snub out his cigarette, he offers his hand to me so we can go inside and explore. I hoist up using him as help and brush myself off as well.

"Let's go inside to our new Chateau de Schwarz."

To our new home where it's just myself and Schuldig.


	25. Mistaken Identity

**Mistaken Identity**

_Alley_

**Warning: Implied child abuse.**

He sat in the alley desperate to get the blood out of his eyes. There was a rusted metal bucket filled with what he supposed was rain water; dipping his hand into it, he washed what he could of the mess off his face and pulled his hair out of his eyes. He knew the fights were bad, but never like this. They made sure to keep him out of the line of fire.

He leaned his head against the cool wall behind him and tried to forget about the past hour of his life. He shivered from the cold night air against his sweat-slicked skin, trying to ignore the voices crashing against his mind. He wasn't going to cry—crying was for the weak, and he wasn't weak anymore. His mother accidentally hit him with that cut-glass dish. After all, his father was extremely quick on his feet, almost a blur. He just wasn't so lucky, that was all. It was his fault for entering the living room when he knew his parents were in another heated argument.

His head ached and the blood from his wound was slowing now. Soon he would return home and everything would be better.

Better until the next fight. But he would be gone by then, though he didn't know it at the time. _Why couldn't I just have a normal family instead of people who hate and throw things at each other?_

He rested his head on his arms, propped up on his knees.

_Why can't I just be normal_?

A car door slammed and footsteps approached. He didn't need to look up to know who it was—these people had been looking for him; he surmised they were the police. He wouldn't put up a fight, would answer their questions politely, tiredly, as if asked the same things countless times. They would knock on the front door, his parents would be all smiles, relieved to know their son wasn't dead, that he would be fine, that they loved him…

"He's the one we were sent to look for?" said the man, and he realized the man had someone else with him. "A _boy_?"

"What does it matter if he's a boy or he's a grown man? Our job is to locate them and take them in."

The man who spoke first shoved his partner forward. "You collect him then. I'll wait in the car."

The second man approached the boy and knelt down next to him.

"Your parents aren't very nice, are they?" he said in strangely accented German. _He must not be from around here_.

"That would be correct," the man said, answering the boy's thoughts. "I can help you get away from your…family problems. No one would ever hit you or 'accidentally' throw things at you again…"

The boy looked suspiciously at the man. "No one can help me get away from my parents. They always manage to find me again."

The man laughed. "I guarantee they won't find you if you come with me. I promise."

_Promises mean nothing_, the boy thought bitterly. _Mama and papa promised they'd stop fighting, papa promised he'd stop drinking, mama swore she loved me more than anything else in the world… They were feeding me lies_.

The man held out his hand. "If you come with me, you will never be hurt by your family again."

The boy looked at the offered hand and then at the mouth of the alley, where police cars were beginning to show up.

_My parents have found me_, he said, recognizing the sleek black car amidst the police lights strobing. _I won't let them take me back._

He took the offered hand and the man dragged him over to a beat up looking car away from the police, away from the rest of the town, away from his parents. His mother caught a flash of his garish red hair and pointed in their direction. Naturally the cops' gazes followed her finger and drew their guns.

_Go away_, the boy thought, eyes narrowed in anger. _Go away and don't look for me again._

There was a blank look in their eyes and the boy didn't understand what that meant. Perhaps they didn't know how to proceed, or maybe they had given up the fight.

-x-

"There's still blood on the walls."

Crawford followed the trail of cigarette smoke into an alleyway that looked like it hadn't been used in years. There was mould and ivy all over the walls, rusted metal tools and objects leaned against the crumbling stone façade, and dried blood on the walls. Schuldig stared at the blood with an amused look on his face.

"Did someone get shot here or something?" Crawford didn't understand why they had to make a special detour just for some alleyway in a small Bavarian town. "What is the significance of this place?"

Schuldig shrugged, nonchalance coming easily to him. "Just a reminder, that's all."

"Of what?"

Schuldig smirked. "Of how humans can be so cruel." He glanced at Crawford from the corner of his eye. "Let's go, there's nothing else of importance here."

They exited the alley just as a woman in her fifties approached that same spot. She glanced at Schuldig for the briefest of moments, recognition alight in her eyes.

"Andreas? Is that you?"

Schuldig nearly swallowed his cigarette and Crawford gave him an odd look. Schuldig managed to recover and nonchalantly responded, "You must have me mistaken with someone else."

The woman watched them walk away, a look of sadness on her face as she laid a wreath of flowers against a bloodstained wall. It had been sixteen years since her son was taken away from her.

Schuldig chuckled as they crossed the street and went past a rundown looking house.

_I wonder if Mama still swears she loves me more than anything else in the whole world._


	26. Afternoon Delight

**Afternoon Delight**

_voyeurism_

**Warning:** Sexual situations._  
_

_But what if Nagi comes in?_

-x-_  
_

"Don't… Nagi will walk in."

Nagi stopped mid-way to the bathroom and turned to look at the kitchen, where Crawford's voice had come from.

"Nagi's too involved in his stupid computer games to notice us partaking in a little…afternoon delight."

Nagi heard a moan and curiosity gripped him, pulled him closer to the kitchen. He'd never heard Crawford make a noise like that before. He poked his head through the doorway and found Crawford backed up against the sink with Schuldig on his knees. Nagi flushed and realized he shouldn't be looking, should just go back to his room and stay there until called for dinner. There was a problem, though.

Nagi couldn't move. He was transfixed at the sight before him, Crawford fisting Schuldig's hair, forcing his head down into his lap, the noises he made as Schuldig licked the head of Crawford's dick lightly before taking it back in his mouth again. Nagi knew this was wrong, oh so wrong, and yet… It excited him. He watched Crawford shove Schuldig's head away, and then Schuldig was bent over the counter, jeans pulled down just enough. Crawford yanked on his ponytail with one hand, the other caressed his hip. Crawford pressed forward in one fluid motion and Schuldig cried out, arms braced against the countertop as Crawford had some of his 'afternoon delight'.

"What if Nagi sees?" Schuldig mocked, and tangled his fingers into Crawford's hair, his mouth hot against his neck. Crawford's hand moved from Schuldig's hip and up his torso, teeth nipping at Schuldig's shoulder.

"He's too involved in his computer games, remember?" Crawford grunted and slammed into Schuldig, eliciting a gasp from him, and Nagi gasped with him, before Crawford pulled away and zipped up his trousers.

Nagi hid in the doorway of the bathroom before either of them could catch him peeking, and then ever-so quietly went back into his room.

_Who needs pornography when I can just watch Crawford and Schuldig?_

-x-

Schuldig smirked as he pulled down the top edge of Crawford's newspaper.

"He saw."

Crawford ruffled the paper and turned the page.

"I know."

Schuldig leaned back towards his side of the table, his feet on his seat.

"That doesn't bother you?"

Crawford folded up the paper and placed it on the table.

"I warned you that Nagi would walk in and see. You chose to ignore me."

"_Me_?" Schuldig scoffed. "_You_ ignored your own vision!"

Crawford sipped at his coffee. "I guess I wanted a taste of your…afternoon delight."

Schuldig lit a cigarette as Crawford excused himself from the table. He nearly choked when Crawford pulled him to the edge of the table. Schuldig suggestively raised an eyebrow.

"Table sex?"

Crawford kissed him, tasting cigarettes and coffee and something else. Crawford smirked.

"How about the couch?"

Schuldig made a whining noise. "But we've never fucked on the kitchen table."

"We haven't on the couch, either."

Schuldig grinned like a Cheshire cat. "Can we make it so that Nagi won't want to sit on that couch ever again?"

Crawford pulled Schuldig off the table and led him into the living room by the scruff of his t-shirt.

"I think it's safe to assume he won't be leaving his room to follow suspicious noises again. Don't worry about the couch—I have seat covers."

Schuldig pushed Crawford onto the couch and quickly undid Crawford's shirt buttons. Crawford raised an eyebrow.

"Unless you want me to rip the shirt off during sex…?" he said in response to Crawford's thought.

Crawford pulled Schuldig onto his lap. "Forget about the shirt." And he kissed Schuldig hard before letting Schuldig's hair free of the stupid hair tie.

_But what if Nagi…?_

Crawford bit Schuldig's lip as Schuldig's fingers quickly undid his belt and tugged on the zipper.

_He won't_, said Crawford. _Trust me on this._ He jerked on the belt loop of Schuldig's jeans, his signal for _take these off now_. Schuldig pulled them off with ease.

"That's what you said last time," Schuldig said, as Crawford grabbed at his waist, fingers tracing the scars on his hip.

Crawford did nothing but chuckle as he pushed his hips against Schuldig's.

_Trust me._


	27. Singed

**Singed**

_I've never felt like this before_

_Schuldig responds just as the fire trucks and police cars arrive, their sirens drowning it out. But Crawford is still able to hear it, smirks at the answer he receives._

-x-_  
_

Schuldig watches the embers die out slowly, watches them choke on the ash littering his surroundings. He doesn't expect to feel anything when Rosenkreuz is finally burned to the ground, by people who are supposedly loyal to Eszett, no less. He never does feel much of anything, unless he wants to anyway. The wind from the remnants of the fire whip at his skin, burning it slightly. Crawford claps a hand on Schuldig's shoulder, his hair mussed and suit ruined, littered with holes, tears, covered in soot and singe marks.

_Your hair…_. Crawford's hand brushes the shortened hair, most of it lost when they escaped from the collapsing and burning building. Schuldig scoffs.

"It'll grow back."

The fire dies out, leaving the smell of burned flesh and wood and scorched stone, charred hair and clothes. Schuldig shoves his hands into his coat pockets.

"Let's go," Schuldig says. "I need to fix my hair. Can't go around with my hair half burnt off, you know. I have a reputation to uphold."

Schuldig walks away, and Crawford follows, and before long they fall in-step with each other as they leave behind the scene of the arson.

"Do you feel…different?" Crawford asks, as he smooths down his hair with his hand.

"Different?"

"Like this is relief. A weight lifted off of your shoulders."

Schuldig stops to light a cigarette. He takes a long drag before chuckling to himself. Crawford stops and turns to face Schuldig.

"Like freedom?" He throws the cigarette to the ground and crushes the butt under his boot before catching up with Crawford.

"Yes. Like freedom."

Schuldig shrugs as he watches his breath dissipate into the cool late night air.

"I've never felt like this before."

Crawford pushes his glasses further up his nose. "How does it feel to finally be out from under Eszett and Rosenkreuz?"

Schuldig sighs contentedly. "Like the afterglow of amazing sex."

They cross the street just as the wail of sirens approaches, practically disappearing into the darkness, blending in with the shadows.

"Let's go home, Schuldig."

"Ja, let's. And when we get there, you're going to find the scissors and help me fix my hair."

Crawford examines Schuldig's hair, runs his hand through it.

"I think you can pull off asymmetrical hair."

Schuldig snorts. "That's what you said the last time shit happened with my hair. 'I think you can pull off green hair.' It was green for _weeks_."

Schuldig sees a contemplative look on Crawford's face and grins when he catches a stray thought. Schuldig responds just as the fire trucks and police cars arrive, their sirens drowning it out. But Crawford is still able to hear it, smirks at the answer he receives, and says, "I've never heard anyone say that before and actually mean it."

"You know I don't say things for the sake of hearing myself talk."

"Oh?" says Crawford, and he sounds so amused. "I've never heard _that_ before, either."

Schuldig shoves Crawford into a tree and continues walking, flipping him a rude hand gesture when Crawford tells him to wait a second.

"You don't know how to get home!"

"No," Schuldig says, over his shoulder. "But I _do_ know where the nearest pub is."

_I'll see you there_, Schuldig says telepathically. _Don't be late, or I will be very disappointed._


End file.
